


normal but good

by spheeris1



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, Light Angst, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: drabble // Villanelle p.o.v. // set during 2.04 // 'Whatever you were hoping for, it wasn't this.'





	normal but good

/ /

Whatever you were hoping for, it wasn't this.

For you have never sought out this kind of oblivion, where colors stretch and fade across your eyes and faces morph and melt away. You've always kept the wolves at bay by beating them back... isn't that the way you were raised, the way you were made?

A fist. A sneer. A chill running through your blood.  
A cut. A feral grin. A fire charring up your skin.

You've always kept those beasts at bay, haven't you, by killing them... haven't you? Isn't that why all of this has been so easy for so very long? Beautiful face, simple soul – normal is for the weak, isn't it?

Isn't it?

You sway and blink and lose at least an hour, slipping past the bodies, past the shadows, and you smell sweat and you taste smoke and there are at least five voices in your head – yours, his, theirs, hers, and it – and the next pill turns your tongue into cotton, thick and filling, and you sway and you blink and you lose a bit more... just a bit more... just a bit more...

Somewhere between there and here, you dream of Anna. You dream of her stilted, stupid laugh and the flavor of that cake she always had on the table and the feel of her fingers on your hips – scared and rough, hard water and want coating the grooves – and you see her swimming in a sea of red, red blood and you can't believe you ever loved her, ever missed her, ever wept...

...no, no, you didn't weep then, dumbfounded and desperate as the police tore you away from that apartment, into the cold night and then to the even colder jail...

No, tears are for those normal people, aren't they? And you aren't cut that way, the edges of your pattern just a bit skewed, just a bit jagged, and you like it that way. It makes you unique, it makes you attractive, it makes you who you are and you like it that way, don't you?

And you sway.  
And you blink.  
And you lose.

And somewhere between here and there, you think you see Eve. And something primal howls deep down in your chest. And you take another pill. And you feel weightless. And if you reach out far enough, you could touch her... couldn't you? Skim the contours of her face, travel the waves of her hair, drag your lips to her lips, breathe her in until she's a part of you. If you listen hard enough, you can hear her say it all over again - _“I think about you all the time...”_ \- and, god, does it make you ache, ache right down to your jittery bones, right down to your vibrating pulse and to your wild heart.

You think see Eve. And then she's gone again.  
And you're out of pills. And so very bored.  
So so bored and so so alone.

You've always been alone, though, right? You against the past, you against convention and rules and roadblocks, you against yourself... you've always been on your own and you've always liked it that way, both the diamond and the disaster, shaking up the universe with your madness. You've always stood out, always been better than the rest, always coming out on top while everyone else stumbles and falls.

But you sway. But you blink. But you are losing something... you are lost, aren't you? 

And you wake up as you slam a girl's head into the walls, as your kneecap busts her fragile nose, as your fingers wind their way around her neck and it feels good, it feels like a million gorgeous moments, and you watch, fascinated, as her face strains from pink to a deathly blue, and you don't feel so alone anymore, not really, not right now, not with so much sweet anger flooding your body.

For one delicious second, you feel found again.

/ /

It's good to stare at yourself. It's good to study your own face. It's good to see who you are, to really see who you are and what you have become. It can be painful, too, and annoying and shocking.

The make-up is gone, smeared away by time and by pillowcases. Tacky spit and sick stuck to the roof of you mouth, throat dry as a desert, and your muscles feel tired. Unbelievably tired, that's how you feel. And you see all this reflected in your gaze – shattered, messed up, broken...

...so fucking normal now, aren't you?

And so you cry. You hiccup and choke out a sob or two. And your glassy eyes spill over some more and you shudder and everything hurts, it all really, really hurts, and you stare at yourself, you stare at yourself until you see a stranger looking back – a stranger wearing your face, drowning in want and heartbreak – and you stare and you stare and you stare until this sadness turns into something breathtaking, into something you've tried to replicate but could never fully manage...

...you stare at yourself as if you've been reborn.

And it's good. Painful but good. Shocking but good.

Normal but good.

/ /

**(end)**

**Author's Note:**

> Was listening to Disintegration, a Cure album, and this happened.   
> All mistakes are mine. Cheers.


End file.
